Free Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel by Debbie Macomber Page B

unpleasant. They walked down the aisles and sawa woman standing at the counter. There didn’t seem to be a lot of customers in the store.
    “Feel free to wander around and explore,” the clerk told them. “If you need help, let me know.”
    Maggie asked where to find old buttons, and the woman directed her to an area against the back wall. Roy followed, looking a bit bored, his hands in his pockets.
    Maggie noticed an overstuffed chair close by. “This might take a while,” she told him. “If you want, you can sit and relax.”
    “You don’t need to handle me, Maggie.”
    She hadn’t realized that was what she was doing. “I’ll feel rushed if I know you’re bored.”
    “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
    “Okay.” He could be prickly at times, which led her to believe that he, too, continued to struggle with negative thoughts, old wounds, and fresh ones, too. Determined not to allow his mood to alter her own, she sorted through the buttons, searching out the ones that caught her attention.
    Roy looked around a bit and then sat down in the chair and reached for his phone.
    Maggie went completely still. If he was sending Katherine a text, she swore she’d walk out this door and not look back.
    Roy must have read her thoughts, because he looked up and caught her eye. “I’m checking emails to make sure everything is running smoothly on the job site.”
    Rather than respond verbally for fear her voice would tremble, she nodded.
    Ten minutes later, he was still responding to emails.
    For once, just once, she wished Roy could leave work behind.
    Roy stood. “I need to make a call.”
    “Now?” she asked without censure. “We’re taking a weekend break, remember?”
    “Maybe you are, but I need to see to this.”
    “Roy, you promised.”
    “Maggie, listen, I’m sorry, but the electrical foreman’s run into a problem and the entire job site is about to be shut down. Time is money, and we can’t afford to let that happen, not when it’s wi t hin my power to prevent it.”
    “I …” He had a valid point.
    “I know you’re disappointed, but this won’t take more than a few minutes, I promise.”
    “Okay.”
    He pushed a button on his cell and then swore under his breath. “I can’t get good reception in here.”
    The clerk, who’d apparently overheard their conversation, called out, “If you step out and face the marina, you shouldn’t have a problem.”
    “Thanks.”
    Maggie was upset. She didn’t want to be unreasonable or difficult over this. They’d had more time together in the last twenty-four hours than they’d enjoyed all year. That alone said it all.
    It used to be they made love three or four times a week. It’d dwindled down to once every other week, if that. Maggie didn’t want to complain, didn’t want to nag her husband. To be fair, she was equally neglectful when it came to the physical aspect of their marriage. The problem, she surmised, was their inability to get in sync with each other. When she was willing and ready, Roy was home late or overly tired. It was the same with her. Her husband would let her know what he wanted and she’d beg off. Neither one of them put up much of a fuss, all too willing to accept the other’s weak excuses, which said a great deal, she supposed, sadly.
    After a few minutes, when Roy didn’t return, Maggie paid for her purchases and left the store. She saw her husband pacing the sidewalk alongside the marina, intent in conversation. He didn’t seem to notice her approach.
    Didn’t seem to notice her at all.
    No, she wouldn’t go there, feeling sorry for herself, making up excuses for what happened, for her own role in the mess they’dmade of their lives together. She had to think positively, look forward rather than dwell on all that had gone wrong. The past could bury them. They had to look ahead, not behind.
    Roy saw her and waved. As she approached, she heard him speaking to the project manager. He ended the call and placed the